Above All Else
by Visage
Summary: Young Christian learns about Love, Beliefs, and Loss...


Above All Else  
  
By Visage  
  
Hello again! I'm back for my second Moulin Rouge fic! ^_^ Just for general information, I don't own Christian or his parents. I didn't know what their names were, so I didn't use them… ^_^ Anyway, please excuse any grammar or spelling errors not caught by spell check, and as always… Enjoy!   
  
***  
  
Little Christian flopped down on the floor of the room. He reached for his favorite toy, still a few inches out of his grasp. He let out an annoyed breath of air, trying to bring the small wooden horse closer to him.   
  
  
  
"What's the matter, Christian dear?" A feminine voice called from the next room. He looked behind his to find his Mother standing in the doorway. She walked over, her long hair flowing over her shoulders. She reached down and picked up her young son and the small toy.   
  
"Is that better?" She asked handing it to him. He gave a grin, showing his approval and began to "gallop" the wooden toy across the air. His father had whittled the toy for him when he was born. It had barely left his presence since.  
  
His mother let a small laugh escape. She pushed the dark hair off his forehead and kissed him lightly. She put him down on the floor again. "Stay out of trouble now, Little One." She watched her son for a few minutes more before she felt a pair of arms slide around her waist. A chin laid itself on her shoulder. She breathed in deeply the outdoor sent, placing her own hands on the arms that enveloped her.  
  
"I've waited all day for the moment I would be able to hold my beloved. But even my daydreams cannot compare to the real thing." Her husband's voice breathed in her ear. She felt warm lips on her neck. She closed her eyes, enjoying the attention that the father of her son gave.  
  
She reached up and caressed his scratchy cheek. "You're early." She said, turning in his arms to face him.   
  
"Nothing could keep me from you, My Love. The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return. I have that. What more do I need?"  
  
Christian watched his parents, his blue eyes shining with interest. 'The greatest thing…' He thought. His young mind latched on to the idea as a butterfly would to a flower. The toddler had found his first idea to connect to. Love. He believed in love.  
  
***Several Years Later***  
  
Christian sat on the edge of his bed, the normally soft quilt felt coarse beneath his small fingers. The shadows on the walls began to grow darker with the fading light. Earlier in the day, his father had rushed into his own bedroom where his mother was.   
  
A man with a dark coat and black bag had arrived a few hours later asking Christian where he could find his parents. Christian had pointed to the room and the Man vanished as well. The little boy had been alone ever since.  
  
Something at the pit of his stomach made his body feel cold. He had paced the room, tried writing in his notebook, anything to keep his mind occupied. But nothing could rid him of the dark thoughts closing in on him. Something was wrong in the little room… But he could not figure out what.   
  
Christian's eyes fell upon a small plant at the corner of his room. It was a simple flower with pink and white blossoms. His mother loved that plant. She had put it in his room a few years ago when he had been sick. She had told him that it had always given her comfort, and it would brighten up the room with its dark curtains and quilt. His mother always made sure it was properly watered and pruned. Sometimes, young Christian would wonder if his mother loved that plant more than himself or his father, and a pang a jealously would swell up within him. He always dismissed the idea as false almost immediately.   
  
He heard his stomach rumble hungrily. Sighing, he pushed his dark hair off his forehead and behind his ears like his mother always did. He pursed his lips, wishing his mother could make something to eat. Christian sat back on his bed, lying on his back. "Soon enough." He thought out loud to himself. He just needed patience. For a nine year old, patience was one of the hardest lessons to learn.  
  
Suddenly, the door that separated him and his parents creaked open. Christian shot up, ready to either greet his mother, or stay out of the way of his father's ever watchful eye and quick moving hand. He sat up straight, making sure all the wrinkles were out of his shirt. Watching the door, his father emerged with his head hung low.   
  
Christian jumped up, rushing to his father's side. He resisted the urge to tug on his sleeve like a child would to get attention. Instead, he stood quietly waiting for his father to speak.  
  
It seemed to be ages before his father even moved from his space just outside the door. Without a sound, he walked over to Christian's bed rubbing his eyes and temple with his shaking hand while the other lay in his lap. Christian sat quietly next to him.  
  
"Christian." His father shattered the silence. Christian moved his hand to cover his father's.  
  
"What is it, Father? What's wrong?"  
  
"It's Mother." Was all he said. No other words were necessary.  
  
Christian sat for a moment, letting his thoughts sift through his head. "I want to see her, Father." He said, starting to stand from his seat. His father grabbed his hand and pulled him back down a little harder than what would have been needed.  
  
"Christian." He said again, this time with a hint of anger lingering in his voice. "She's dead."  
  
The coldness that had been present in his stomach spread to the tips of his fingers and toes. What little noise from outside ceased to exist. 'No.' He thought. Picturing her face in his mind, so soft and loving, he could not imagine that the light that radiated from it was gone forever.   
  
"No…" He whispered, barely making any sound at all. "No!" He yelled louder, trying to tear away from his father's grasp. His father only held tighter, bringing Christian closer to his chest. The young boy's chest heaved with sobs as he buried his face in his father's shirt.   
  
He felt his father's hand on his head as he rocked back and forth in his father's arms. They seemed so strong, stronger than they had ever been before. How could something so strong let this happen?   
  
For hours, the two men stayed like that until Christian had fallen asleep, still sobbing dry tears.   
  
**The Next Morning**  
  
Christian awoke in his bed, expecting the smell of breakfast. His stomach rumbled louder than usual. He stretched, wondering why he couldn't hear his father outside and his mother in the kitchen. It wasn't until he saw the tired form of his father sitting in the old rocking chair by his bed that the events of the night before came flooding back to him.   
  
Christian rubbed his eyes, sore from the tears that had fallen. "Father?" He asked hoarsely. His father made no motion to answer.  
  
Christian stood cautiously, walking over to his father. He knelt on the floor next to his father placing his chin on the arm of the chair. "Father?" He said again, softer this time.  
  
"She's gone, Christian. She's gone." He mumbled. His father didn't lift his eyes off the ground in front of him.  
  
"Father… Mother is still with us." He said, placing his hand on his once again. "She is alive as long as we remember her. Right?"  
  
His Father said nothing. Christian sighed, his eyes threatening to fill with tears again. His gaze drifted around the room. He wished he could forget the night before had ever happened. He thought that maybe if he wished hard enough, his mother would appear in the doorway, calling him to breakfast.  
  
Christian noticed the plant in the corner of the room; his mother's favorite plant with the pink and white blossoms. 'She had always liked to hum when she removed the dead leaves from it.' He thought fondly, noticing he had used the past tense when he thought of her.   
  
The boy stood and walked over to the plant. He had to keep it alive. Letting it die would be as if he had allowed his mother to be forgotten. He began to remove a wilted flower from the stem of the plant.  
  
"What are you doing?" His father asked coldly. He stood from his chair quickly, rushing over to his son's side. He grabbed Christian's hand away as if it were near an open flame.   
  
"I'm taking care of Mother's flower. I have to protect it. It would be like killing mother all over again."  
  
His Father's face began to deepen in red. His hand flew, knocking the child off his feet. His eyes and face grew hot with anger. "No!" His father yelled. "Leave it alone." His voice returned to normal as he walked over to the doorway. Christian dared not to stand from his position on the floor.   
  
His father stopped in the doorway to the rest of the house. "What's the point? Everything you love is taken away from you, whether it is the warm summer breeze stolen by the chilling winter, or your true love taken by the unfeeling hand of death. There is not point to life, Christian. And there is no point to love."   
  
His father turned and walked away from the pain that he face every time he saw his son. 'It's the eyes.' He thought to himself. 'They're her eyes. She had no right to leave me this way. I need her. I can't live with out her.' He walked out the door, down a familiar path in the woods. A walk was sure to clear his mind. After a few moments of silent walking, he stopped. "So I will not."   
  
Christian sat on the floor, rubbing his cheek. The tear flowed freely now, not caring whether he made a good show for his father or not. He was wrong. To survive all you need it love. He believed in it for as long as he could remember.   
  
"I still do, Mother." He said quietly. "Above all else, I believe in love." 


End file.
